A Rake's Midnight Kiss (Sons of Sin 2)
“I’d taken Vicar’s cob to the blacksmith and Dorcas was doing the marketing. The buggers must have been waiting. Locked the vicar and Mrs. Warren up right and tight and ransacked the house.”
Hell. Richard should have made sure the vicarage was safe before he went to Oxford. He’d been too busy worrying about Genevieve to pay proper attention to her family. “Is Dr. Barrett hurt?”
“He’s pretty bad shaken up.”
Whatever the hell that meant. “Did you see the intruders?”
“No. They were gone before I got home. I headed out to see my sister after dropping the cob. Only got back half an hour ago. Vicar was nigh gaga with fear when I let him out.”
Poor Dr. Barrett. Poor Mrs. Warren. They’d been through the mill, by the sound of it. Richard clapped Williams on the shoulder and told him he was a good fellow, then strode through the kitchen.
Each room he passed was in chaos. Pictures. Crockery. Furniture. Hundreds of books. All lay scattered. From the front of the house, he heard raised voices.
As he neared the parlor, the voices sorted themselves into the vicar’s whine in response to Genevieve’s urgent questions. And Fairbrother’s unctuous tones. Richard should have guessed that Fairbrother would hover like a vulture at a massacre.
“So that’s agreed?” Fairbrother said from the center of the room as Richard appeared in the doorway. “I’ll make arrangements for my man to move in tomorrow.”
Richard hardly heeded Fairbrother’s blatherings. Instead, he sought Genevieve. Today in the willows, she’d claimed at least part of his soul. Probably all of it.
She kneeled beside her father, her attention on the old man. The vicar hunched in a low chair near the fire, a knitted shawl around his shoulders. He looked small and frail, his shaking hand curled around a posset cup. For the first time, Richard saw him as something other than an absurd creature with a nasty habit of claiming undeserved credit.
Pity jammed Richard’s throat. Pity and envy. Despite her father’s sins against her, Genevieve loved the old man, just as she loved her aunt. Genevieve belonged to a family, something he’d never had.
“Let me help, Papa.” Genevieve steadied the cup. Her sweet concern made Richard’s belly cramp with futile remorse. Damn it, he should have prevented this.
“Was anyone hurt?” Richard entered the room.
Mrs. Warren summoned a smile from her usual chair, although she looked haggard and not her rosy-cheeked self. He hated to imagine her terror while ruffians vandalized her home. “Mr. Evans, we’ve… we’ve had quite the excitement.”
He admired her spirit in making light of what must have been a hideous experience. “I heard. Are you unharmed?”
“I’ve got a few bruises. Ezekiel was in his library so all they needed to do was bundle me in with him and barricade the door. We shouted and shouted, but nobody heard until Williams came back.”
Every ounce of chivalry revolted at her maltreatment. “How many were there?”
Genevieve still hadn’t looked at him. He hoped she didn’t feel guilty because of what they’d been doing while this outrage occurred.
“I saw three. There could have been more.”
“Did you recognize them?”
“No, they were masked.” Again, Mrs. Warren an
swered. Genevieve continued to murmur softly to her father.
“What about their voices? Were they local?”
“Apparently they sounded like Londoners,” Fairbrother said.
Richard didn’t even resent the arrogant lordling answering. To prevent a recurrence, he needed to know everything.
Was the jewel safe? He hardly cared. At that moment, he admitted that he stayed for Genevieve Barrett. The Harmsworth Jewel became almost irrelevant.
His gut knotted. Hell, if Genevieve had been here, she’d have fought back. She could have been seriously hurt.
Except Genevieve hadn’t been here.
That struck him as significant. Whoever had planned this knew about comings and goings at the vicarage. Inevitably Richard’s suspicions focused once again on Fairbrother. “Did they take anything?”